


from the wound a lovely flower grew

by Aaronlisa



Category: The Far Pavilions - M. M. Kaye
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Implied Relationships, M/M, Post-Canon, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28052661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aaronlisa/pseuds/Aaronlisa
Summary: He knows that he is dead.
Relationships: Anjuli-Bai/Ashton "Ashok" Pelham-Martyn, Anjuli-Bai/Walter Hamilton, Ashton "Ashok" Pelham-Martyn/Walter Hamilton
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	from the wound a lovely flower grew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quin/gifts).



> The title of the fic comes from a line in Sting's song "The Lazarus Heart." There are also a few Indian words that are directly from the book: _Dur Khaima_ \- the Far Pavilions, _Belait_ \- England, _Sahiba_ \- lady. This story takes place after the events in Kabul and diverges from there. The second part begins with a quote directly taken from the novel, my edition has it page 953.

He knows that he's dead. 

He can still feel the sharp tearing of the blade ripping through his skin and muscle, tearing him, as it sinks deeper and deeper between his shoulder blades. The wound feels impossibly deep. It throbs with every breath that he takes. 

And he can recall how he tried to remain brave and upright so that he could continue to lead his men against their enemy even as he knows the fight is lost. But everything had ebbed into a grey haze and he had forgotten himself. 

He can barely recall anything but the throbbing wound. 

Until now. 

He can still feel the throbbing wound with every breath he takes but the pain seems oddly muted. He tries to open his eyes but his eye lids feel weighted down. When he does manage to partially open his eyes, it's as if the world is wrapped in a heavy and thick grey fog. Nothing makes sense. 

Instead of the hot sun and the scent of gunpowder and blood, he inhales the soft and sweet scent of roses and night-blooming jasmine. He can feel the gently swaying of a horse along with the slim body that he is pressed against. The air is cooler than it was when he took his fatal wound. 

He closes his eyes with a gentle sigh and assumes that he must be on the path to heaven, Never mind that the heaven he had once envisioned in his poems had been more of a modern solder's version of Valhalla. Yet he will gladly trade in that myth for this sweet and gentle version that he is riding to. 

He feels more than hears the words of the rider before him. Their voice is sweet and it soothes him. He allows the greyness to overtake him again. 

* * * 

_Wally's eyes were closed, and rigor mortis had not yet stiffened his long body. His body was begrimed by smoke and black powder and smeared with blood and the furrows of sweat, but apart from a shallow cut on the forehead it was unmarked by wounds. And he was smiling ..._

Ash feels as if his heart is tearing apart all over again. It was awful to witness Wally's murder. It's worse to gaze upon his broken body. It should have been here on the ground and not Wally. He sighs as he knows what he must do. They may be far away from a river, but there is water in the cistern and Ash is able to bathe his beloved friend so that he may be cleansed of sin. 

As he gently moves Wally's body, he notices that the wound that had taken Wally's life seems less dire than it should. Ash pushes it out of his mind as he continues to clean Wally's exposed skin. If only he could spare the time to give his friend a proper farewell but there is no time. 

When he is done, Ash takes Wally's hand in his own. For the briefest of moments, it feels as if Wally's hand squeezes Ash's own hand. But when Ash looks down, Wally's cold hand is lifeless in his own. It appears waxy and unreal. Even for someone like Ash who is familiar with death. 

Words spill out of his mouth. Word after word as he tells Wally that it was alright if he slept now, that he should embrace his rest and that Ash would always love him and honour him. He tells Wally about Anjuli and how they plan on leaving for the _Dur Khaima_ in the hopes of finding a kingdom where they can finally be at peace. Ash is not aware of the words that spill from his lips that voice his anger for whatever deity allowed Wally to die, He doesn't hear the words that rant and rave about how unfair it is or that Wally should never have been here. While he doesn't fault his friend for having died in battle, he does fault the ignorance and arrogance that allowed for the futility of Wally's death, along with all of others. 

The shadows lengthen as Ash speaks to his friend. As he tells him everything that he never could. He is unaware of the tears that spill on Wally's young and broken body. 

* * * 

When he next becomes aware of himself, he is less sure of the fact that he had died. He can still feel the wound but it seems lessened. The throbbing sensation seems to be far removed from his body, which still seems reluctant to respond to his simple commands. 

He still can't open his eyes. He skin feels feverishly hot despite the cool breeze that washes over him. He is aware of a pair of gentle hands that tend to him. Just as he is aware of the damp, soft linen cloth that smoothes over his skin. He can still smell roses and jasmine but he can also smell smoke from a fire and the rich scent of tea. There is a sweet voice lulling him back to sleep yet he can make out the sharper masculine voice speaking in a language that he doesn't quite understand. 

He flinches as the voice is raised. The sweet voice soothes him and tell him to hush, to rest and to sleep for a little while longer so that he can heal. It eases the tension in his body and even though he's not sure where he is anymore, he is certain that he must still be on the path to heaven. 

He allows sleep to overtake him again. 

* * *

She is nervous as she waits beside Gul Baz. She had not wanted him to go The Residency but she had held her tongue. For she had known that Ashok had needed to do this. If only to bid farewell to who he used to be. Gul Baz tenses beside her and mumbles a curse. When she looks up, she can see Ashok emerging from the shadows, with his arms filled with a body. What is he thinking? 

When he reaches them, the grin on his face scares both Gul Baz and her. It is not the smile of a sane man. Gul Baz curses him out for his foolishness. Yet when Ash reverently sets the body down on the ground before them, explaining the miracle, Anjuli can see that the man who is supposed to be dead is anything but. Ashok catches his breath and Gul Baz tells him how this is some sort of evil trick. The dead do not miraculously awaken and then heal from grievous wounds. 

Yet Ashok's dear friend is alive. She knows that it is not some sort of trick for has she not seen more than her fair share of miracles? The young man is barely alive but as Ashok shows Gul Baz the wound, she can see how it is healing before their very own eyes. She sighs. It does not matter if it is divine or evil. She would follow Ashok to the ends of the earth, whether he asked her to or not. If he wanted her to go to _Belait_ with him and dress as if she was some English _Sahiba_ , she would do so. 

She looks to Ashok and gives her beloved a small nod. He turns to Gul Baz and tells him that he can leave if he wishes. That they would not force him to help them now. The older man looks at the two of them and then looks at the man laying on the ground, the man who should be dead, and he sighs in defeat. He tells them that it is too late for him to not go with them now and that they are pair of fools who need him. 

While it is unseemly for her to help, it takes all three of them to remove the boy's uniform and to dress him in clothes that will make him stand out less. And then when Ashok is on his horse, he helps to gently lift the boy's body up and then to tie it to Ashok's body. 

Gul Baz tells Anjuli that Ashok must have been mistaken in how dire the wound was. And that he doubts the boy will live to see daybreak. Anjuli murmurs a reply to him that Gul Baz takes for agreement. But Anjuli is not too certain. She does not doubt what Ashok had seen. When Gul Baz had thrust the boy's uniform at her, she had seen the damage. The damage that had not repaired itself in his clothes as it had in his flesh. 

* * * 

He wakens for a third time. His mind is clearer than before. The swaying motion is back and he knows that he is on a horse again. The sweet scent of roses and jasmine is gone and in it's place is a muskier. masculine scent. There is a hint of tea and bergamot. And it feels like a homecoming of sort. His arms tighten around the familiar body that he is bound to. He feels more than hears the mumbled greeting.

He shivers as he comes to the realization that he is _not_ dead. But he knows that he should be so. It was not some illusion of brain fever or another illness. He can still feel the faint throbbing of the wound that had killed him. He had been dead. Very much so, but now he is alive. 

The realization makes his body ache and shiver. He can feel the familiar voice call out words to stop their progress. And someone gently unties the silk that is binding him to the rider and then he is pulled off the horse. He is overwhelmed by jasmine and roses.. He can barely make out familiar shapes and he wonders if he is somehow in heaven even though he is alive. And he feels guilty for thinking that. 

Things start to go grey again as he feels overwhelmingly warm and ill. His lips form a word but no sound comes out of his mouth. 

* * * 

The shadows are long in the compound and he is aware that he has foolishly allowed far too much time to pass. He stands and even though he does not want, he knows he must leave this place. If only for Gul Baz and Juli. They must be worried that some evil has befallen him. Ash is about to step away from his beloved friend when he hears a queer rattling sound. Ash lowers his gaze to Wally's body and for a moment, he is paralysed by what he sees. 

Wally's eyes are open wide, his mouth is working soundlessly as if he is trying to say something as he gasps for air. Ash knows that Wally is dead, or was, but that knowledge doesn't prevent his friend from sitting up and gasping. He knows that his senses had not lied to him earlier. Ash kneels down to help Wally. He slips his arms around the younger man's shoulders and holds him while Wally inhales and exhales. Each breathe of air seems a battle. 

This is certainly madness. The scent of death and the heat of the sun have given him some sort of fever. This _can't_ be real. Ash tells himself over and over even as Wally's breathing calms down. 

And then Wally whispers his name and Ash knows that it may feel like he is being consumed by madness but until that moment he had forgotten what Wally's voice sounded like. His hand moves to touch Wally's wound and he fins that it has grown smaller since he had first cleaned Wally's body. Significantly smaller. 

"It burns, Ash," Wally mumbles. "It burns." 

Ash is not sure what burns but he knows that they do not have time to discuss it. He knows that they must leave this place. Ash bids his friend to stay quiet and to rest. Wally mumbles an agreement. Ash leaves him to find some clothes that will hide his identity. Although he wishes to change Wally out of the uniform that will mark him as a British solider and the enemy, Ash has lingered in this place for far too long. Gul Baz and Anjuli can help him change Wally's clothes. 

He gently pulls Wally into a standing position before wrapping his arm around the younger man's shoulders so that they can leave the compound. With every painful step that they take, Ash is certain that he is dreaming. Or that he has gone mad at long last. 

* * * 

His fever finally runs its course and there is no denying that he is alive. Wally know that he should be dead but he does not question it. He has awoken to a place that seems like paradise to Ash and Anjuli. For him, it is home. Wally has no desire to go back to his old life of valour and honour, in fact those words seem hollow to him now. Especially when looks into the faces of Ash and Anjuli. 

He knows that he died in Kabul just as he knows that he is alive. He does not worry over why he is living when he should be dead. Nor does he share Ash's concern that they should tell someone. Like Anjuli, the wife of his heart, he is content to just let things be. After all, in the ways that matter Walter Hamilton died in Kabul. Here in this sweet, green valley where they have been accepted, he is just Wally. 

For the first year or so, Ash or Gul Baz would fret over the fact that he was alive and that he still owed some sort of debt of service to the Guides. It was always Anjuli's sweet voice that would silence their concerns. It was Gul Baz who let the idea of Wally returning to his old life go first. It didn't surprise Wally at all. There was always some part of Ash that was resolute and that still belonged to the Guides and always would. Sometimes he would catch Ash starting back towards Kabul and their past. 

Wally never spoke of it to either Ash or Anjuli. He knew that those moments caused immense pain for Anjuli who still feared that Ash would leave her in the name of _Belait_ and the idea of honour to seek out a glorious death that didn't involve growing old in a quiet little village where no one questioned who they were or which of them was Anjuli's husband. He didn't accuse Ash of causing either Anjuli or himself heartache for Wally no longer believed in the ideals that had been instilled in him as a child. 

Wally had long let who he once was remain dead in some war-torn corner of the world where kings and queens played at the Great Game. There was no honour in being a pawn on the chessboard. Just as there was no glory in forcing a foreign Queen's way of life on a distant shore where people had lived for centuries with their own way of life. Neither was better. (Although Wally knew that he'd never be able to have what he had with Anjuli and Ash in _Belait_ \- and he's not even sure when he stopped thinking of it in English.) 

All that matters is the unspoken promise that Ash and Anjuli had given him when he had first woken up in that camp bed after his fever and delirium had run their course. He was alive and it did not matter how. Ash and Anjuli had knelt on opposite sides of his bed. Anjuli's slim had had taken hold of his left and Ash had pressed his face into Wally's chest. Neither of them had said a word but they hadn't needed to. Wally had vowed to give them both _forever_ and that was enough. 

So when Ash gets that restless feeling, Wally will take him hunting and force him to work out the restlessness that is in his bones. An inheritance from his father and mother, although Ash does not realize it. And once Ash is calmer and at peace, Wally takes him home to Anjuli. When Ash deals with the spoils of their hunt, Wally prostrates himself at Anjuli's feet as a supplicant and begs her forgiveness. She always grants him her grace with a gentle tone. And when Ash enters their home and finds them like that, he calls Wally a fool, even as he begs her for the same. 

* * * 

He knows that he is dead. 

However, he is very much alive. Perhaps a holy man would argue that the man he once was is who is dead. The semantics do not matter. He no longer writes poetry. Or when he does, he arranges the words so that they worship the love he has found in the two that had saved him.


End file.
